


i don't want to miss you like this

by 5ambreakdown



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, i promise david is FINE, remember to bring a charger on day trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ambreakdown/pseuds/5ambreakdown
Summary: Patrick waits all of two painfully long minutes before resigning to call David, legs bouncing, head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. It rings out. He tries again. More endless ringing. Rings and rings upon rings and now he’s looking down at his left hand and the entire world around him is spinning. He feels like throwing up or crying or forcing himself to sleep or possibly forcing himself to wake up because there is no way that any of this is actually happening.or david insists on doing patrick's vendor runs, and patrick just had to turn on the local news.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 11
Kudos: 220





	i don't want to miss you like this

**Author's Note:**

> seeing y'all's comments and kudos on my fics brightens my day so much. thank you for reading and putting up with my ramblings, it truly means a lot. 
> 
> title from "come back...be here" by taylor swift, because of course it is

Patrick is at home alone, lounging in sweatpants and one of David’s intricate hoodies, because his husband insisted to do the vendor runs that day.

Today was supposed to be Patrick’s turn to drive wayward across the county, visiting farms and the homes of middle-aged women to negotiate deals and sign contracts, filling their car to the brim with product samples. He was supposed to drive and talk and drive and talk until it physically ached to not be home. He was supposed to walk into this home that he’s built to the smell of pizza or takeout, greeted with a kiss on the cheek and warm embrace and soft hum. He was supposed to know that David was safe at home, bundled up in a ridiculous sweater that Patrick couldn’t get enough of, buzzing from too much coffee and excited to share stories about their days. 

Instead, Patrick is at home. Instead, he works on numbers for the store, figuring out profits and working out the logistics of potentially expanding the delivery range of their online orders. Instead, he drinks tea, not budging from the couch downstairs except to refill his cup, use the bathroom, and escape to the café to pick up lunch. Instead, he has the bright idea to turn on the local news for background noise while he works, feeling his heart launch up to his throat and his stomach plummet and tangle.

“ _A fatal car crash in Elm County occurred earlier this afternoon when a semi-truck swerved into the opposite lane and collided with multiple vehicles. Police are still investigating the details, but they have told us that there has been at least one fatality. No name has been released, but we do know that the victim was white middle-aged male from Elm County. We will release updates on the situation as they come.”_

The video switches from a polite young woman to the scene of the crash. What had to be four or six cars and the semi-truck are bent and broken beyond recognition. Police and fire and ambulance lights illuminate the darkening sight. Patrick stopped taking it in after the news reporter mentioned fatality.

 _The victim was a white middle-aged male from Elm County_.

Hands shaking, Patrick fumbles to find his phone. He manages to unlock it, the screen opening up to the last texts they sent each other. It was earlier from that afternoon, just after lunch. David had sent a photo of himself, smiling because he was close enough to the “nearest decent coffee shop” where he could get “an actual caramel macchiato.” Patrick had responded with some snarky comment about David leaving him to live closer to decent coffee. 

_Fuck_.

He’s able to tune back into the tv to hear where the crash occurred, and, according to the vendor schedule for today, David would have taken that road. He has no idea when the crash happened, and with David’s inability to stick to a timetable, it’s becoming harder and harder for Patrick to rationalize that it wasn’t David, that it can’t be David.

_Fuck._

With a small, defeated sense of hope he texts David a simple “ _are you okay?”_ in case he’s with a potential vendor. He looks at the time - David is supposed to be home in twenty minutes. His last stop was on the outskirts of the county, about forty minutes away. 

_Fuck_.

Patrick waits all of two painfully long minutes before resigning to call David, legs bouncing, head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. It rings out. He tries again. More endless ringing. Rings and rings upon rings and now he’s looking down at his left hand and the entire world around him is spinning. He feels like throwing up or crying or forcing himself to sleep or possibly forcing himself to wake up because there is no way that any of this is actually happening. 

But he looks down at the phone that somehow dropped down on the floor between his legs, and somehow he’s on the floor. Texts from Jocelyn and Ray and Twyla and their neighbors across the way fill his screen. But nothing from David. He goes to call David again, not really knowing why, only to see that his call history is to David and to David only.

Patricking is shaking out of control now, his entire body violently vibrating as he puts his face in his hands, feeling wetness on his warm cheeks and how long has he been crying? He manages to look up at the clock and his stomach lurches as he realizes it’s been over two hours since he turned on the news. 

Over two hours since David was supposed to be back. But he’s not back. Patrick is alone, in their house, and David isn’t back. He has no idea where David is. He glances down at his phone and back up at the clock. He has one idea where David is. 

Somehow the tv turned off, but Patrick can’t bear to turn it on for any updates. He’ll wait it out, here on the floor until there’s a knock on the door to tell him he’s a widower before forty.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to build a porch out front so they could sit in rocking chairs together to just sit and watch the sunset. They were supposed to host holidays and invite family and friends to stay over in this home that they built, to come see the life that neither of them ever dreamed of having. They were supposed to watch Alexis start her own family, to babysit her kids and spoil them with sweets and presents and then breathe a sigh of relief because they didn’t have to watch over children of their own. They were supposed to slowly renovate the kitchen and the bathroom and repaint the bedroom to a different shade of white that made no difference to Patrick but David would insist changed the entire room. They were supposed to expand the store, to open new locations and support more farmers and artisans. They were supposed to grow old and gray despite David’s protesting, but Patrick would think he only grew more beautiful. They were supposed to celebrate stupid anniversary milestones that neither of them really cared about because they didn’t need to mark down forever with a year. They were supposed to tease each other with the things that almost broke them in their early years. They were supposed to look back on their lives and mistakes and pain and be at peace with it because at the end of it all they found each other, and that made all of it okay. They were supposed to have more time.

Patrick hears a car pull up in the driveway because the silence in their home is suffocating and it’s been _three hours_ since David was supposed to be back. He tries to steady his breathing so he doesn’t break down in front of the complete stranger whose job must be hard enough, but then he hears a key in the lock and he knows it’s Stevie using the spare they gave her. She’s here to hold him and cry with him until the police come. She’ll stay with him so they can talk about David and share stories and tease him like he’s sitting across from them, emptying bottle after bottle of wine until they both pass out in the living room. She’ll insist that they can get through this, even though Patrick knows he can’t, that he never can because David is it for him. And you can’t just heal from that. 

He doesn’t need to pull himself together for Stevie, and it doesn’t really feel like it because he’s a fucking widower-

“I’m pretty sure an entire small country moved here recently, because the _one time_ I drive around the county there’s traffic. Where the fuck are they going anyway? Most the towns are identical. Anyway, Heather made me sample _every cheese_ so she could ask me questions about Ted. Which I’m not complaining about, because her cheese is _delicious_ , but I am starting to feel bad for her because it’s been years since that thing ended. It wouldn’t even be hard for her to find someone else. Despite all that cheese, I’m starving, so what do you want to do for dinner?”

Patrick looks at the threshold to their living room to see a perfectly intact David. He looks tired and a little irritated at the day, but he’s otherwise fine. He’s alive. He’s here.

David’s face quickly turns from slightly annoyed but relieved to be home to deeply concerned once he meets Patrick’s gaze. It twists and falls and his eyes squint a little bit before growing wider as he takes in the grieving ball of Patrick that’s numb on the floor.

“David?” he whispers like it couldn’t possibly be true.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” His voice is considerably softer than it was just a moment before. It’s only a few long strides before David is sitting down on the floor next to Patrick, cupping his face so Patrick has no choice but to look at him.

His face feels hot and tear-stricken but David is looking at him with such _fondness_ and patience. There’s a little bit of confusion behind all of it, but mostly concern and love, like he’d wait forever for Patrick to tell him what could possibly have him slumped down on the floor with a tear-stained face. 

Patrick’s heart is racing but in a more familiar way, the way it always does after seeing David at the end of a long, hard day. And today was a very long, hard day. Still, he is confused and amazed at seeing his husband unscathed, sitting down on the floor beside him. He obviously had quite the day, too, but he puts that aside without complaint to comfort his mess of a husband. God he loved David.

“But- but the car crash? And you didn’t answer your phone. And- and-” He’s crying and shaking again and that’s all it takes for David to wrap him up and pull him into his chest.

David shakes his head against Patrick’s. “No no no,” he whispers soothingly, rubbing his hands across Patrick’s back and arms, surrounding him until all he can feel and smell and see is David. Patrick clutches onto this sweater and buries his face into the crook of David’s neck. David pulls them apart enough to look at his face. “My phone died after I stopped at Lisa’s and I forgot to bring a charger. I was already in the car and on the road before I could use hers to call you,” he explains softly, managing to figure out exactly what went wrong with Patrick’s day - and for a moment his entire world - from an incoherent, mangled sputtering of words.

Patrick nods, feeling the tension start to dissipate from his muscles, but he still clutches David’s sweater. “I thought that was you. On the news, after the truck-” he shakes out, refusing to finish the end of that sentence. He knows it's not true now, but the mere possibility that it could have been is too much to bear.

A small smile pokes out on David’s face. “Well, it’s going to take a little more than that to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me for life, Patrick.”

Patrick huffs out wetly, falling back onto David’s shoulder. All it takes is the feel of David’s gold rings on his scalp to break him again. 

He sobs into David’s neck, the fabric going wet against his cheek. Not for the first time but definitely a rare occurrence, David doesn’t care, holding Patrick closer and closer instead. He doesn’t prod for more questions, saying nothing except for a few soothing words into Patrick’s ear here and there. They just hold each other, because they need it. 

The sobbing eventually subsides, hiccups giving way to softer, more even breathing, both men still holding onto each other, but a little less desperate.

“I was so sure I lost you,” Patrick whispers.

David shakes his head. “I’m right here, honey. I’m okay.”

They pull back just enough to look at each other, David cupping Patrick’s face and Patrick holding David’s biceps. He wipes away at Patrick’s tears, placing soft kisses all over his face until he’s giggling and smiling again. 

“There he is,” David says fondly as Patrick blushes.

Patrick pulls David closer so their foreheads are together. His face is warm but so is David’s, but he’s smiling again and his husband is here and safe and in his arms and that’s all that matters right now.

So they hold each other a little while longer, both desperately needing to just be in the other’s presence. Patrick lingers as David calls in for pizza, some part of him always maintaining contact with David, as if if he doesn’t, he’ll be gone: a head on his shoulder as they wait for the pizza to arrive; a hand pressed gently to David’s back as Patrick moves around him to grab wine glasses from the cabinet; lips pressed to his temple as David lights a few candles from vendors to sample; fingers threaded together as they tread upstairs so David can change into pajamas (like hell Patrick is taking off David’s hoodie); Patrick quietly combing his fingers through his husband’s hair, David’s head in his lap, as they relax on the couch. David’s not even sure Patrick is aware he’s doing it, but he doesn’t mind, not in the slightest. 

They fill their bellies with too much pizza and soon they’re doubled over laughing at the misadventures of David’s day out in the county. The bottle of wine now empty in the recyclables, they can both relax a little easier. Patrick is smiling without remembering that he’s able to now, and David lights up every time, warmth and love filling up both their chests.

The knots in Patrick’s stomach start to unwind, the tension in his shoulders dissipating with each _Patrick_ and _honey_ that rolls off David’s tongue so naturally. 

They eventually stumble up to bed, all giggles and smiles and kisses that don’t quite hit their intended target every time. David happily forgoes the shower he had planned on taking in favor of cuddling in their bed with his husband. They hold each other a little tighter that night, grateful that the day ended with being at the other’s side.


End file.
